


Find Your Way Home

by kkscatnip (autohaptic)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Begging, CBT, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Lyrium Addiction, M/M, New to kink, Painplay, Recovery, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 13:05:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5457491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autohaptic/pseuds/kkscatnip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen was a templar. Templars take lyrium. The pieces aren't difficult to put together in the end, and Bull's always been very, very good at puzzles. He's just not had a lot of practice at doing them because he wants to, instead of because he's been told to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Find Your Way Home

"How do we do this?" Cullen asks, his hands at his sides, clenched loosely, and then tight for a moment before going loose again. "I've just. Never--" 

Bull walks over to Cullen's bed and sits, the noise and feel of the ropes and mattress comforting in their familiarity. "I'd normally say 'We do this the way that you feel comfortable doing it', but since the point is to make you uncomfortable..." he trails off, smiles reassuringly. "I'll just bend you over my knee, if that sounds alright to you." 

"Am I to be punished like a child who's stolen from the croft again?" Cullen asks, as he steps forward, and it would sound a lot more indignant if Cullen wasn't covering his face with one hand, if he weren't blushing bright as day and also not sounding unmistakably eager in spite of his supposed indignation. 

"Yes," Bull says, soft and simple. "And no." It's not teasing, but the most honest, forthright answer that Bull can give. "I'm going to help you remove your armor, but I'll let you decide if you want to be bare-assed or not." 

Cullen nods once, fingers already beginning to work on the buckles on his forearms, even as he steps closer to let Bull work on the straps of his chest plate. Bull does, his fingers not stumbling once. It's possible Cullen really ought not mistreat his armor by letting it fall carelessly on the floor like that, but he's probably not done buffing the templar markings out of it yet, so maybe it's intentional. 

Bull looks up at Cullen, whose hands are by his sides again, loosely curled, and who looks distinctly caught. He offers Cullen a hand. "Well? Did you decide?"

That start says that Cullen's mind is elsewhere more clearly than anything else Bull's seen so far. Cullen leans toward Bull's hand, then away. "No. I don't--what are the options again?"

He lets his hands rest on his knees, turns them palm-up, relaxes his shoulders, and looks directly at Cullen. "How you want your beating: bare-assed, small clothes, or fully clothed." 

"Beating..." Cullen trails off, and he's going so red that he's nearly purple. "Was. Was that what I asked for?" 

It is, and was, and Bull's beginning to think that Cullen may be one of those people who needs to have all questions phrased such that yes-no answers or even just simple objections are the only possible responses. The fact that Cullen's clearly ramping up, not down, is the opposite of what Bull was intending to do. 

"I'm gonna do something with you that I don't do with most people," Bull says, keeping his words gentle and even, like he's talking to a spooked animal--which he kind of is. He's taken in enough strays to know the signs. "I'll say something. You can say yes, if you want, or you can keep quiet, and that thing's what's gonna happen. You say no, and it doesn't happen. Do you understand?" 

Cullen nods, eyes wide, but the color in his cheeks doesn't increase. 

"Good. Now: I'm gonna take you over my knee and pull down your pants enough to give you an ass-beating. I'm gonna use my hand, _just_ my hand and not a damn thing else. I'm gonna ask you how you're doin' every so often, so I can make sure things are going the way I want 'em to. Do you understand?" 

Cullen nods again, and swallows twice, his throat working as he does. The moonlight from the hole in the ceiling seems to highlight the action, pale grey instead of warm yellow from the oil lamp. "Yes," he says, and his voice is only a little strained, but his hands are loose, and not tightening nervously every so often. 

"Excellent," Bull says, and means it. He grabs at Cullen's belt, unbuckling it in a smooth, one-handed movement and pulling Cullen toward him at the same time. Cullen stumbles a little, but it's fine: Bull's got some good reflexes, by now, and it's only a few breathless moments before Cullen's chest and stomach are resting across Bull's knees, his ass bared and knees scraping the floor. 

It isn't a bad looking ass. Pretty good, actually. Not hippy like a woman's, but nice and round, and when Bull brings his hand down the first time, just short of gently, it jiggles only a little. Mostly muscle--of course, and not displeasing in the least. 

Cullen's startled gasp is beautiful, but not worrying, and Bull leans back a little to see Cullen's face, the redness taking on a distinctly less purple tenor as he continues. It's gratifying to watch the way Cullen relaxes after each slap, the way he only tenses when Bull pulls his hand away long enough that Cullen's possibly worried that it might be over. 

There's a kind of beauty in being right and Bull loves it almost as much as he enjoys hurting people this way. He pauses after what he considers a good initial barrage, cupping his hand over the reddened flesh and massaging it gently. Of course he's not far enough along that doing so will hurt Cullen, but rather make sure that he doesn't get too over-sensitized too fast. 

For the first time since the gasp, Cullen makes a sound, deep and full of desire, and a part of Bull's brain kind of stutters for a moment. Sex and play don't have to be separate, of course, but Cullen has said more than once that he was only interested in male companionship _outside_ of sex. Bull wonders if it's because of lack of interest, as he initially thought, or if it's actually lack of anything and instead just presence of fear. 

Not the time to ask, he thinks. "Would harder be better?" he asks, as he grips Cullen's ass, not as gently as before. 

Cullen's feet press against the floor and he shivers and hums, raising his hips, but he doesn't try for an answer that involves words--probably because he's too busy clenching his jaw to keep from making more sounds. 

"Harder, then," Bull says cheerfully, and lets go of Cullen's ass and brings his hand down again. This time, he cups his fingers and holds his hand against Cullen's skin when the sound of the hit is still reverberating through the rafters, rubbing slowly. Cullen cannot, for whatever reason, stop the sound this time, and he shifts, ass leaning toward Bull in the aftermath of that sharp, short little groan. 

It's the same game that Bull plays any time he's with someone new: mapping out their bodies and their reactions and how hard he can push them. But with Cullen, it's not just how hard he can push. With Cullen, it's figuring out the moment when Cullen stops thinking about lyrium and addiction and can't focus on anything but this space here and now: his ass, Bull's hand. 

The moment comes when Bull decides to ball up his fist and punch Cullen's ass. He grinds his knuckles in and Cullen's hands, motionless until now, grip whatever they can find--Bull's waist, his leg, his thigh, while Cullen makes a low, guttural sound of need. 

And his cock begins to stir. Cullen's, not Bull's.

Bull almost stops then and there, but Cullen seems to sense the hesitation and whispers, "Maker--please, more, I can't--" and Bull's not the right type of cruel to deny Cullen in this moment, so he draws his arm back and punches again, the other cheek. The sound Cullen makes this time is longer, higher, and he's pressing back against Bull, hands now steady, one arm wrapped around Bull's thigh, fingers digging as Cullen hisses his breath back in, through his teeth. 

"Yeah?" Bull asks, pleased. "So that's the kind of thing that works for you, huh? A good solid punch." And he delivers one, then another, then another, and another, in rapid succession and delights in Cullen's reactions: wide-eyed surprise followed by another of those sounds, this one a moan in truth, and a full-body shudder along with him finally, finally letting his full weight settle on Bull's lap. 

Cullen doesn't nod or shake his head, only shift a little and arch his ass higher in silent plea, and Bull gives him every bit of reward that he deserves for asking for more, until Cullen's shaking and panting and his head is lolling and Bull thinks: I stop now, or he's not going to be able to sit tomorrow without a cushion. 

It's not that Bull's against that kind of thing. He's not. It's just that it's a little beyond a simple beating for the sake of Cullen's needs, to do it in a way that ensures other people will know about it tomorrow. "Hey," he says, cupping Cullen's ass, squeezing, smiling at the way Cullen squirms. "I think that's enough for tonight." 

"Please," Cullen begs, almost sobbing the word out, his grip on Bull's thigh tightening. "Don't stop." 

"I won't," Bull assures him, beginning to see more clearly that this has to be about Cullen. Not about Bull's rules or limits or--the normal way he does things. About what Cullen needs, and nothing else. "Lay on the bed for me? Face-up."

Cullen scrambles to obey, only he stops when he realizes that face-up means exposing his hard cock. 

Bull doesn't help him out. He just watches Cullen struggle, watches Cullen's chest heave as he breathes, and smiles when Cullen decides to give in and flops back against the blankets, shirt mused, pants around his knees. 

"There's a good soldier," Bull says warmly, shifting and unlacing Cullen's boots, then pulling them off along with Cullen's pants. He does it as quickly and efficiently as possible, talking softly as he does. "I'm going to hurt you more, but I need you to tell me the moment something hurts in a way that is--" how does he even explain it, to someone who has none of the language that Bull grew up with? "Anything that's too overwhelming or the wrong kind of pain. Do you understand?" 

"Yes," Cullen says, breathing the word out, slow and soft. "What will you do?" 

Bull decides to go on faith and instinct, and says, "You don't need to know," before he settles himself across Cullen's thighs, kneeling and reaching backward to Cullen's bare feet and slapping the bottom of one soundly.

Cullen yelps, high but not with a tone that makes Bull worry, and the way his hands clench in the blankets and his cock goes from half-mast to fully hard only backs up his judgment. He slaps the bottom of Cullen's other foot, no less soundly than the first, and watches as Cullen's hips raise up off the bed for a moment, watches Cullen's eyes roll back while he yelps and this time shudders as well, toes curling against Bull's finger. 

"Good," Bull purrs, low and pleased, as he watches Cullen struggle to get himself under some semblance of control and only end up panting harder for his trouble, body tense with suppressed reaction. He lets go of Cullen's foot and leans forward a little, sliding one finger between Cullen's legs. 

Of course Cullen freezes, his eyes going wide, but Bull just carefully slides his finger beneath Cullen's balls, lifting them out from between Cullen's legs so that he can wrap his fingers around them properly. "Shhh," he hisses, gentle, and then with his other hands, slaps Cullen's sack lightly. 

Cullen's eyes are all at once wide and full of tears and his body goes tense in an entirely different way. His jaw clenches and he tosses his head, makes a noise in his throat, rolls his hips, and finally breathes, gasping. 

"A different kind of hurt, isn't it?" Bull asks, grinning, and slaps again, no harder than before. 

If Cullen means to respond, he doesn't manage it, but Bull doesn't honestly think that he does. Not when he's tossing his head like that, back and forth, hands white-knuckled as he gasps in sobbing breaths. "Please--" 

"I got it," Bull murmurs soothingly, and squeezes Cullen's balls before slapping them again. It's fairly easy to hit too hard, when it comes to testicles, and so Bull lets himself move his hands upward in the aftermath where Cullen is still trembling long, long moments later, sliding his hands inside of Cullen's shirt and ignoring the scar tissue, finding Cullen's nipples and pinching just as hard as he likes. 

Naturally, it's hard enough to make Cullen go from panting and whimpering to his mouth open in a silent scream, too overloaded to even make sounds. But Bull can feel Cullen's cock against his belly, can feel the way it pulses and throbs and knows that he's doing well, knows that it is, in the end, exactly what Cullen needs even if he's not sat down for long enough to understand why just yet. 

For a time, Bull loses himself in hurting Cullen. Balls, nipples, scrapes of his claws down Cullen's sensitive stomach, on his thighs, the insides of his elbows and knees and the bottoms of his feet--he uses every bit of knowledge he has about anatomy and how to cause pain and _hurts_ Cullen until Cullen's mindless with pain and surrender. 

No, not mindless. Until he's single-minded, until there is nothing but the hurt and none of the hurt is hidden inside of him, until it's all on his skin, in his muscles, tendons, until his cheeks are wet with tears and his cock is somehow, at the end of it, when he's a limp mass against the blankets, still hard. 

Only then does Bull lean down and pay attention to it, wrapping his hand around the base and bringing Cullen to life. He cannot form words well enough for protests, likely, so Bull says in a firm voice, "If you do not want this, shake your head." 

Cullen's head, which had been lolling up until now, goes completely still. The effort of it strains his already addiction-gaunt features and Bull makes a pleased sound and licks from base to tip, slow and reassuring. "Good," he murmurs. "You've been very, very good for me, Cullen." 

It's probably impossible for Cullen to last long, and those words--well, Bull doesn't mind that Cullen comes, is glad for it, and the opportunity to settle down next to Cullen who, as far as Bull can tell, is already asleep. 

Not the worst beginning that Bull's ever had. Maybe even a good one, he thinks, pushing Cullen's curls out of his face and leaning down to press a kiss against Cullen's temple.


End file.
